


Steal My Heart

by TheFellCreature



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Lots of Solas, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Sexy Banter, Smut, Too much solas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3075143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFellCreature/pseuds/TheFellCreature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The voice in his head returned to tell him that what he was doing was wrong. That he had come for nothing but a chance to explain himself, to give her some semblance of truth to ease the pain he would no doubt cause her in the coming days. But what truths could he tell her that weren’t present in the frantic thrumming of his heart, the surrender of his eyes, the tenderness of his touch? What else could he do when his words fell as flat as platitudes and his eyes betrayed all that he thought and felt? So he ignored the voice. Because he was the ocean and she the sand, no matter how far he pulled back he would return again and again as sure as the tide." </p><p>Solas can feel the end approaching and decides to offer Lavellan whatever apology he can manage for that night in Crestwood, but words aren’t the only way to make an apology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steal My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to think of this fic as an amalgamation of Shakespearean love sonnets and a Harlequin romance novel. More than that, it simply serves as the substitute sex scene that BioWare (blessed be its name) left up to the player's imagination, albeit with a little more angst thrown in.

Solas stared down at the smooth cobblestones under his feet, stone hewed from the passage of many in the halls of Tarasyl'an Te'las.

_I should not be here._

He didn’t belong in the world of the waking. He didn’t belong in a world full of quicklings and mortals and fallen elvhen. He didn’t belong in Skyhold, standing frozen outside the doors of Lavellan’s chambers as if he had any right to be there after what he’d done.

And yet he could not trust his footsteps to carry him anywhere else.

His hand rose again and again, suspended momentarily in the beginnings of a knock before falling forlornly at his side. He had forsaken his right to stand unworthy in her presence. He had forsaken the right to meet her eyes, amber and gold as the sun, to run his fingers through the dark tresses of her hair as if to touch her was a privilege he deserved, to look upon the seditious curve of her lips in all the defiance of the young and the rash and the glorious.

But his hands were pushing against the wood of the door nevertheless, and his feet carried him silently forward. He stood upon solid stone but was falling, falling from a precipice he had built up from the moment his lips left hers in the glade in Crestwood.

She was standing at her desk in the corner as he stepped softly up the stairs, and a distant voice in his mind told him it wasn’t too late to turn back, to climb the broken cliffs of his own restraint and put a stop to this seemingly inevitable plummet into temptation.

But that voice was silenced the moment she sensed his approach and looked up, the brief softening of her eyes and the shadow of a tender smile barely passing over her lips before her polite mask hid it all. A repercussion of his past actions, no doubt.

“Solas,” she said with surprise he suspected was more feigned than genuine, “I wasn’t expecting you. I’m afraid I’m not presentable enough for visitors.” She motioned vaguely at an oversized and relatively sheer tunic that served as the extent of her attire. Her mask never lifted even as she met his eyes, a steady veneer that echoed with unasked questions and accusations. Why should she care if he saw her half-dressed? He had seen her before, and now it was he who violated the carefully composed illusion of civility they had maintained since his parting.

But the softness of his gaze gave her pause. He met the challenge of her eyes with the smallest of smiles. He regarded the fine bones of her collar, the soft cascade of her dark hair as if fell undone past her shoulders, the shadow of her curves beneath her tunic, the long shapeliness of her legs. She let his gaze sweep over her, the hard glint in her eyes never leaving as she met him stare for stare.

“You could shame Andruil with your beauty, vhenan,” he said softly.

Something flickered in her eyes before she turned away, looking past the vaulted windows of her balcony to hide the emotions passing over her face.

She spoke with not but a glance in his direction. “I would not have you address me as such. You have made it clear that such words are untrue.” Confusion. Hurt. Anger. Longing. She had sought to hide behind the clip of her tongue only to have the waver of her voice betray her in the end.

But he was stepping closer, every voice in his head telling him that with each step he walked further and further from atonement, diverting from the path he had walked for eons. With every footfall she felt her mask slipping, and for all the power of the Inquisition at her fingertips she could not stop it.

When he was an arm’s length away, he froze, and she finally tore her gaze from the stars to meet his eyes. Her face was bare now, as Cole had put it, her composure gone as surely as her vallaslin, her voice silent for fear she would reveal too much if she spoke.

She eyed him wearily, watching the muscles in his jaw clench, the brief swallow at his throat before he spoke. “Vhenan…” he began before she cut him off.

“Don’t.”

He made no endeavor to hide the pain in his eyes. “You do not understand,” he managed helplessly, lost as to what he could say to fix all he had done.

She flicked hair out of her eyes, which glistened with tears unfallen. Still she managed to glare at him, accusing, challenging, a smoldering amber he couldn’t escape. “ _You_ don’t understand. You who see so perceptively the world of the ancients and the lost, how could how fail to see what’s in front of you?”

But he did see. He saw she who had risen from the ashen disgrace of the Dalish, who stared into the eyes of an Archdemon undaunted and unafraid, who stood at the edge of the void with nothing but a laugh and a smile on her lips.

And in her presence he felt as he always had, as if standing was an illusion because his soul was on its knees.

He didn’t want to see the hurt he had caused her. He didn’t want to see the unanswered question on her lips or the pain in her eyes as she looked at him.

“Lethallan, there are…” He sighed. He was not often at a loss for words. “…things… beyond my own wants and desires.”

“Would that we could all be so cryptic,” she all but snarled in her bitterness. Yet even in her cold, smoldering fury she was radiant, with her downcast eyes and long lashes, her tanned skin and soft lips.

He sighed, resisting the temptation to reach for her face, to pull her to him and murmur sweet nothings in her ear. “You cannot afford distraction. You are—”

Her eyes snapped up to his. “The key to our salvation,” she finished with venom. “As if I owed the world a damn thing.” She paused, let the anger fade away so she now looked at him with not but hurt and asking in her eyes. “I would not cast aside that which matters most to pursue some glorified vision of duty and obligation.” She sighed in frustration, letting more anger ebb away. She looked down at the anchor on her hand. “I didn’t ask for this.”

Solas’ eyes softened, understanding in his eyes as he gave mental thanks that it was she, and not another, who possessed the anchor. His gaze never left hers in the silence, watching as the emotions passed over her face, the lashes of her downcast eyes casting shadows across her cheeks.

“Perhaps you are less selfish than me,” she finally murmured. With that she dropped her hand, reaching out for him absently and letting her fingers brush the back of his hand before pulling back uncertainly.

They hadn’t touched since Crestwood, and the moment her fingers ghosted across his skin, his composure fled. He had fallen. Fallen from grace and honor and glory and fallen for her. He felt a deep chuckle in his chest and a smile spread across his face as he gave in. He felt as if he would soon leap from some great precipice, reveling in that moment before the thrill of falling would engulf him.

“You’ve no idea how selfish I can be, lethallan,” he said, voice low and husky in his throat as he prepared for the fall. His fingers suddenly grasped hers and pulled her to him in one swift motion, his other hand bringing her face to his so his lips could meet hers with force and passion.

Her surprise was evident and her recovery swift as her lips met his, pliant and eager, melting under his touch as he lost himself in the feel of her in his arms. She gasped into his mouth and clutched at his shirt, desperate for the feel of him despite the questions that were lost on her lips as he kissed her.

The voice in his head returned to tell him that what he was doing was wrong. That he had come for nothing but a chance to explain himself, to give her some semblance of truth to ease the pain he would no doubt cause her in the coming days. But what truths could he tell her that weren’t present in the frantic thrumming of his heart, the surrender of his eyes, the tenderness of his touch? What else could he do when his words fell as flat as platitudes and his eyes betrayed all that he thought and felt?

So he ignored the voice. Because he was the ocean and she the sand, no matter how far he pulled back he would return again and again as sure as the tide. So he fell, hard and fast and unrelenting. He let his hands slip beneath the fabric of her shirt, let his fingers trail along the contours of her skin, the fine curve of her neck, her collar, her shoulders, pulling at the soft fabric of her tunic. His hands slid up the familiar outline of her hips to the soft mounds of her breasts as she sucked his lip gently, feeling his touch dance like fire across her skin.

Solas had never believed in the dichotomy of good and evil, sin and salvation, the prosaic black and white morality that the ignorant used to mask the complexities of the world. But surely, he thought, to have loved so deeply, so irrevocably, to belong so completely to another could only be born from the most egregious of sins. And yet no sin or salvation or sacrifice could match the exaltation of her touch. As he bent his head to run languorous kisses down her neck, he could not help but smile as he did so, lost in the inexplicable pleasure of her presence and the sweet indulgence of her lips. She gasped his name softly as his hips pressed against hers, his arousal hot against her thighs as he felt her whole body responded to his touch.

As he moved to kiss her, he felt the outline of a smirk against his lips before she bit him gently, pulling away with mischief in her eyes, fingers dancing downwards to grasp the ends of his shirt and pull it over his head. The moment the fabric was discarded, she placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him to her to reclaim his mouth, her other hand running appreciatively over the taut planes of his chest and shoulders.

He pulled away momentarily, meeting her eyes with a grin on his lips. “Fairs fair, lethallin.” She looked up at him through lowered lashes, biting her lip to keep from smiling and trying not to lose herself in the discordant timbre of his voice, soft and cadent.

She pulled off her tunic with the same grace and ease she used on the battlefield, undoing her breastband with quick fingers. Excluding the soft satin of her smalls, she now stood beautiful and naked in the moonlight filtering in from the balcony. Solas stepped back to look at her, to allow his eyes this one luxury, to memorize every curve, every scar, every imperfection. Her body was a map he could lose himself in again and again.

She stepped forward, pressing up against the heat between his legs and letting the firmness of her breasts rest against his chest. She let her lips linger just below his, her breath teasing his face as her hands ran down his abdomen, tracing the V of his hips. As she traveled lower, she pulled at the laces of his pants with deft, impatient fingers.

But he grasped her wrists and leaned his forehead against hers. “Patience, lethallin,” he breathed, mussing the fine strands of hair that fell across her face. He waited smugly for the protest to rise in her throat, kissing her before it could pass her lips. His hands wound their way down to her hips, gripping her tightly enough to bruise and inhaling as he deepened the kiss. Without relinquishing his hold, he stepped forward, pushing her back and guiding her to the bed.

He let her calves graze the bedposts before he moved to lower her, slowly, gently, onto the bedspread, one hand placed on the small of her back, the other at her neck, guiding her head to expose the soft skin of her throat. He moved to suck gently at the one spot along her neck that never failed to elicit a moan from her lips.

Her back arched, a soft moan escaping her mouth as she pulled him down after her. His fingers tangled in her hair as he pulled himself upwards, shoulders rolling as he hovered over her lips, her nails gliding across the muscles of his back.

His lips met hers, soft and tender and brief as he pulled back, fingers buried in her hair, eyes meeting hers, taking in her flushed cheeks, her swollen lips, the familiar half-lidded expression on her face as she gazed at him as luridly as she did lovingly.

He wondered distantly if he wore a similar expression, delighting in the soft curve of her lips as she mirrored him. Leaning in to kiss her once more, he moved from her lips to her jaw, from her jaw to her neck, from her neck to her chest, trailing slow, deliberate kisses down her body, each one filled with words and whispers unspoken.

His ministrations continued down the firm plane of her stomach before he returned to her breasts, breathing over the pebbled skin and looking up at her with a smirk on his lips and a smile in his eyes. She wondered if she’d come undone just by the sight of him, his warm breath sending shivers through her body and heat through her core. His hands moved lower, gliding over her inner thighs and running down the length of her legs as he lowered his head, letting his tongue and teeth graze her breast with the softest of nibbles. He glanced up with the utmost satisfaction as she gasped and clutched at the sheets of her bed.

He kept his eyes on her face as his fingers traced the fine curves of her legs, reaching the delicate bones of her ankles and caressing his way up her calves, gliding over the soft skin behind her knees and moving ever upwards beyond her thighs. She relished the feel of his hands, the gentle roughness of his palms, no doubt a result from years of holding staves, as he left trails of warmth that tingled like the whisper of veilfire across her skin. As his hands moved upwards, he maneuvered himself so he hovered above her face, eyes tender as they met hers, lips teasingly close.

“What would the Inquisition have of me, Inquisitor?” he murmured, insolent with his words and watching her intently as his hands moved towards her center.

“Solas…” she breathed, voice hitching as his fingers brushed along the damp silk between her thighs.

“Look at me, lethallan,” he commanded, voice hot and heavy with his own desire.

Her eyes locked on his without a moment’s hesitation, her usually indomitable will completely at his mercy as his hand pulled at the strings of her smallclothes, pushing them away while he savored the sight of her trembling at his touch.

He moved his fingers back to her core, tracing circles on the inside of her thighs and moving closer and closer to the slick wetness between her legs.

A sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement he needed. “Solas…please…” she gasped into his mouth, eyes bright and lurid, body shaking and coming undone at his teasing.

“Vhenan,” he whispered, moving to pin her arms above her head with one of his hands, positioning his other so two of his fingers entered her slowly, deliberately, bringing a gasp from her mouth as she writhed under him.

“Beg for me, vhenan,” he said against her lips, parted and panting. A flicker of her usual defiance shone in her eyes, quickly dissolving as she moaned, unable to maintain her resistance as his thumb circled the bud of pleasure at the juncture of her thighs.

“Finish me,” she gasped, breath ragged, “Solas—please,” she whimpered, voice quivering and eyes begging as she lay beneath him, knuckles white under the pressure of his hand.

He let a smile grace his lips as he curved his fingers, thumb still moving over her swollen bud as he reached into her core. He watched her head roll back on her shoulders, watched her bite her lip and moan his name through panting breaths.

But he wasn’t finished with her, for even as his fingers reached inside her, brushing her core and pushing her to the edge, he pulled them out, watching her eye him with desperate confusion, a whimper on her lips.

“Hush, vhenan,” he told her, kissing her softly before moving down between her legs, draping them over his shoulders. She’d already begun to melt as his breath grazed over the tender skin he exposed; she groaned and gasped for breath, moving her now freed hands to grasp at his shoulders.  He looked up at her with the ghost of a grin before he began to finish what he started with his fingers, now completing his work with the fine ministrations of his tongue. 

His lips closed in on her folds, the aching strokes of his tongue running across her nerves, sensitive and swollen at his touch. Finally he reached that spot that made her back arch and her breath catch with a gasp and a moan that sent both their hearts racing as she surrendered to waves and waves of pleasure, crying out his name and gripping his shoulders as her climax played out.

He propped himself up on his arms, moving to kiss her forehead as she rode out the last waves of her orgasm, her breasts moving up and down with each panting breath, eyes glazed and lips parted. He felt his own need growing at the sight of her, his arousal becoming unbearable as his length pressed against her.

When he moved to kiss her, she reciprocated fiercely, pulling back only to look on him with new wonder in her eyes. Her hand trailed down his chest, moving down his abdominals and brushing lightly across his length so he shuddered and gasped, his own arousal becoming almost painful in its intensity.

“Vhenan,” he moaned into the hollow of her neck, biting into her shoulder to contain himself against the need that threatened to overwhelm him. His plea rumbled through his chest, resonating through her, every nerve in her body attuned to the inflections of his voice as he murmured her name over and over again, begging as she had done only moments before.

Still tingling from her own pleasure, she resolved not to tease him, wrapping her long legs around his waist, hips grinding against his so that he moaned into her collar, teeth coming down harder on her shoulder and leaving marks in her skin. She made short work of his pants, the laces coming undone in her fingers as she freed his length. She’d barely said his name when he entered her, filling her completely as they both cried out.

His initial thrust was desperate, filled with need and want and desire. But he would see her overcome with pleasure again, see her cry out his name in ecstasy, see her head roll back once more so he could leave long, languorous kisses along the length of her neck. So he slowed his pace, gritting his teeth as he braced his hand on the headboard, knuckles white, eyes locked on hers as sweat dripped down his brow.

She gasped as he filled her, her hands gripping his back and tightening with each thrust of his hips. She met his eyes, relishing every moment that his reserved clam slipped away, replaced by hunger and desire.

She lost herself in the roll of his hips, the feeling of him inside her, filling her core as her muscles clenched around him. His movements sent waves of heat and pleasure through her body so that she gasped his name over and over again, more reverent than the Chant of Light and far more breathless.

He watched the desire in her eyes, heard the want in the breaking of her voice. He quickened his pace, the headboard shaking with their movements as he cried out her name and gods know what else between his winded breaths. He threw the common tongue to the wolves, gasping sweet nothings in the language of the ancients, the old elvish sounding foreign yet carnal to her ears as her own cries escalated, his name a constant gasp on her lips as a pleasure-filled cry tore from her throat.

The throes of her climax brought him to his, the release sending waves upon waves of heat and pleasure radiating throughout his body so that he collapsed, burying his face in her neck as the pounding of his heart threatened to overcome him, each nerve awash with such pleasure that it left him trembling in her arms.

When his breath slowed he left one more kiss in the hollow of her collarbone, his lips lingering on her sweat-soaked skin as he breathed in the scent of her, felt the beating of her heart thrum against his chest as his own pulse raced.

As her breath began to steady, she guided his face to hers, resting her fingers along his cheekbones and holding his gaze as their breaths and heartbeats slowed to the same rhythm. When the air had returned to his lungs, he let himself slip from her hands so his head rested on her chest, listening to her heart as his arms wrapped around her. She rested one hand on his head, the other tracing light caresses along his back.

Neither knew how long they laid as they did, letting the cold night air cool their skin, enjoying the quiet intimacy of touch. The light of the firmament through the window bathed them in soft light, the distant congregation of stars their only audience as they laid beneath the quiet indifference of the moon. The questions and the hurt that had dominated Lavellan’s thoughts were tucked away, replaced by the feel of his embrace. One of his hands found hers, intertwining their fingers as he upset the gentle equilibrium of their positions, maneuvering so his face lay parallel to hers.

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her with a tender smile, the full weight of his affection apparent in his gaze. Before Lavellan could speak, he leaned in with the smallest trace of a smile and kissed her, his hand lightly caressing her face with an ethereal touch.

Their kiss deepened as he tilted her chin, and Solas’ breath seemed to catch in his throat when he suddenly became overcome by the thought of losing her, a thought so potent and prevalent in his mind that he felt as if she was already lost. As his lips met hers, he kissed her with everything he was and everything he had ever been, parting only to pull her up into sitting position.

He now kneeled in front of her, cupping her face with his hands, lips insistent and desperate on hers as if she would fade like a wisp on borrowed time, dissipate into the night like the smoke of veilfire in the dark. He felt tears roll silently down his cheeks, and he let them fall, an unspoken apology for more than he could say and more than she could understand.

He loved her.

He loved her more than the winding paths of the fade, more than all the lost memories of the elvhen, more than the glittering spires of Arlathan and the forgotten remnants of the past. He loved her more than any requiem for the lost and still he would leave her. Still would he let her slip through his fingers, let the distance of time and space and dreams separate them like the Dalish from their ancestors.

He would hold his own salvation in his arms and let her go.

His worst fears would come to pass. He would face eternity alone, eventually he would die alone, as wretched and reviled as the Fen’Harel of legend, and she would be lost to him forever.

A small sound escaped his throat, deep and sorrowful and uninhibited, and when she pulled away, concern in her eyes, he braced his hands on the bed so she would not see their trembling.

She reached up to caress his face, and he turned into her hand, kissing the mark of the anchor softly as she wiped away his tears with her thumb. When he looked into her eyes he couldn’t handle the sight of her, the depth of the love in her gaze. So he shut his eyes, tears rolling down his face, breath catching in his throat as premature regret threatened to choke him.

His shoulders trembled as he wept into her hand. “Ma emma lath. Ma sa’lath ehn ma vhenan’ara…ma’arlath, lethallan.”

_You are my love. My one love and my heart’s desire…I love you, lethallan._

His voice was unsteady and broken, sounding as forsaken and forlorn as he felt in that moment, looking into her eyes with tears in his own, destroyed by the knowledge that he would leave her.

She leaned her forehead against his, stroking his face as she whispered, “Ar lasa mala revas s’abelas.”

He heard the forgiveness in her voice, felt it resonate through every fiber of his being as it threatened to break him apart. He kissed her softly, all tender touch and gentle embrace. He would let her forgive him for that night in the grove, let her believe he deserved it, let her believe his days of transgression were over.

He would let her believe that he had left her side for the last time.

Of all the lies he had told her, of all the truths unspoken, this was the worst, and in his silent acceptance of her forgiveness, he relinquished himself to the feel of her skin on his and the illusory promise that he would know such comfort again.

She pulled him down with her so his arms wrapped around her from behind. He pulled her close so he could rest his face in the hollow of her collar, so he could whisper in her ear and place kisses on her neck, let the pain and the sorrow fade away, replaced by the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her in the air and the soft touch of her fingers tracing the knuckles of his hands.

In her touch he found peace, for he who had witnessed the passing of a thousand ages could not bear to think of a second’s passing that she was not in his arms or against his lips.

Even as she drifted off into the contented oblivion of sleep, he, for once in his life, resisted the calling of the Fade. He laid awake, knowing that apart from this moment, he would never hold her again.

When he heard her breath steady, saw her eyes close, he shifted, carefully maneuvering their positions so he could lay across from her. He memorized the contours of her face, the patterns of her breathing, committing her body to his mind. He watched her through the long hours of the night, saw her eyelids flutter as she dreamed, smiling when his name passed her lips even as she slept. He would gaze upon her as long as he was able, hold her as long as he could, for his time with her had passed as quickly as the sun across the sky in the expanse of a century, a pinprick of light in an otherwise dark existence. At least now he could face that darkness with the feel of her name on his lips, the memory of her preserved eternally in his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

When she woke his lips were there to greet her, his hands running through her hair as he coaxed her back into the waking world.

“Sleep well?” he murmured, kissing her forehead.

“Definitely,” she answered with a coy grin, eyes bright and awake at the sun’s behest.

She got up with a smile, the night’s cares forgotten as she moved to the balcony to watch a new day dawn upon the world. Solas rose to follow, catching her waist before she stepped over the threshold and pulling her against him.

“Perhaps the Inquisitor should dress before stepping into the sunlight,” he chastised playfully, hands roaming over the bare skin of her back and moving downwards to graze her ass.

She laughed and pushed halfheartedly against his own bare chest. “Jealous you might not be the only to one to see the Inquisitor in all her naked glory?”

He chuckled. “Perish the thought.”

“Perhaps I should use the power of my visage to inspire the troops,” she suggested, nipping at his lower lip as she did so.

“In that case… _I_ may be in need of more inspiring.”

She laughed, kissing him again before dancing away, stepping out onto the balcony, brazen in the sunlight. The wind blew her hair in tangled waves about her face as she looked out over sunkissed peaks. When she turned, he had moved behind her, wrapping her in his arms so his mouth was at her ear.

“I’ve heard rumors,” he said huskily, “of the Dalish dancing naked in the moonlight. No one said anything about the light of day.”

“The better to see us in,” she laughed, fingers finding his as she leaned against him to watch the sunrise. Solas, however, cared little for the sight of the sun over the mountains. He watched the light hit her face, outlining every soft contour, gleaming in the depths of her eyes and casting shadows about her lips.

He felt the beat of her heart against his chest, felt the warmth of her skin on his burning hotter than the sun’s rays.

“Vhenan.”

When she turned, he captured his lips with her own, taking all he could from her in one last kiss. They stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, standing where the ground met the sky and the sun shone on every inch of their skin. The world fell away, the past forgotten, the future uncertain, replaced by the feeling of her face in his hands, her lips and body and heart against his own.  

When he finally had the strength to pull away, he looked into her eyes and saw his heart reflected back at him. It took everything he had not to drown in his love for her, not to fall apart in her arms and confess everything he was and everything he had done.

_A rare and marvelous spirit. In another world…_

He thought the words but could not say them. He would not steal the smile from her lips, would not let his cares darken the light in her eyes.

As she pulled away, hands in his, a grin spread its way across her face. “Isn’t it kind of…sacrilegious, to kiss the _Herald of Andraste?_ ”

He chuckled. “As if you believe that nonsense.”

She tsk’d mockingly. “I think Andraste might just smite you for that.”

His fingers closed around hers, tugging her to him, one hand reaching for her chin and tilting her head so his lips grazed hers. “Then I will trust in the goddess Andruil for protection, for surely it was in her image that you were created.”

His voice was honeyed and soft, his eyes smoldering under heavy lids as he looked down at her, and though he spoke in jest, she felt the shape of his words on her lips and the gravity that lay behind them.

Solas felt her smile against his lips, radiant and infectious. “And you must be Fen’Harel, come to steal my heart away,” she whispered softly, her hand rising to his face as her lips closed in on his.

**Author's Note:**

> Ar lasa mala revas s’abelas – You are free from sorrow (there isn’t an Elven phrase for forgiveness, so I figured this could serve as an idiomatic substitute)
> 
> My thoughts: Solas needs to love someone, especially someone he sees as the embodiment of what the Elvhen could be. I don’t think he’s been loved for a very long time, if ever, and that’s what makes his love for Lavellan so profound. When he tells her she holds the key to ‘our’ salvation, he means the salvation of the world as well as the Elvhen, but he also means for himself. I do think his feelings for her would transcend his drive to restore Arlathan if he didn’t feel responsible for its fall. At one point, he asks Lavellan what she would do if she woke up and found the future she had created was worse than the past she sought to change, and I believe there lies the root of his self-deprecation. Even still, I think she represents a future he wants to believe in but can’t because he is trapped and defined by the past.
> 
> Feel free to comment or message me about this pairing. I’m hoping that the more active the fanbase is, the more likely we’ll get a Solas DLC. Hope you enjoyed! :)


End file.
